


like kerosene on the flame of doubt

by PlaguedQuillfeathers (PlagueBirbizzle)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Gen, Oneshot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), The Author Regrets Nothing, Zemo-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueBirbizzle/pseuds/PlaguedQuillfeathers
Summary: "alarms will soundbut it's too late for holy water now"⚔The cost of what was done has yet to be proven outrageous.
Kudos: 21





	like kerosene on the flame of doubt

The room was dark as if the world itself had been bathed in the night, spilling into the corners and rising high above his head, but the lights along the wall shone like the smallest of beacons. He’d grown to like them, especially when they flickered; counting such a pattern had given him something to do, even if the stubborn part of him just wished that he could reach out and mend the light himself. 

Reaching out had become a luxury.   
  
To move was a privilege held out on a stick before him, dangling just out of reach and ever so reflexive. It wasn’t a surprise that mules would move at the sight of something similar, minds so scrubbed clean that the desperation of  _ just reaching it _ was enough for them.    
  
The man in the chair, however, knew better than to follow blindly; he’d done it enough times to resist the obligatory carrot.    
  
“And how are we feeling today, Colonel?”   
  
_ Again with the titles, they tried to establish a connection.  _ Helmut Zemo barely focused on the man before him, waiting patiently until a faint hiss gave way to the sight of his wrists; cuffs, like a bridle, were stripped away while the beast relaxed back to its own business. Penned up. Observed.    
  
The darkness had gained a few more lights, bright, harsh on his eyes; it was a pitiful replication of the sun, but this was not to be a sanctuary of satisfaction. There were rules in place, prompts that made him run his mouth as requested, but freedom was not a physical realm anymore.    
  
No, freedom was a state of mind; he wished to keep said mind as sharp as possible.    
  
“All things considered, the same as yesterday.”  _ And the day before that. Perhaps the week before that. Perhaps the month _ _ — _ _  
_ _  
_ Head up, posture relaxed, the reply was nothing out of the ordinary, or so he had predicted; after years of this song and dance, it was important that the relationship was kept on its established lines, boundaries rarely crossed due to its shocking retaliation. It was easier to leave something alone in its pen when it wasn’t batting at the electric fence; they had no reason to fear something that was aware of its limitations.    
  
Limitations, however, were such a subjective aspect of life. It took a specific brand of creature to do what he did, after all, and do it  _ alone _ . 

_ With the right ingredients, humans can be as limitless as the heroes they worshipped. _

“You’ve been reported to have not been generally responsive in your cell.” The man before him was too busy sticking the tip of his nose into that clipboard that Helmut looked down at his lap, gently rubbing at his wrists with a small roll of his eyes. Naturally, the addition of noise was a blessing due to the cell room being quiet for most of the day, but it’s quite difficult to care for such noise when the source was forgettable. “Is there anything you would like to share?”   
  
He preferred Ross’ incessant performances; at least that was far more entertaining to stop in its tracks. 

_ To share? _ There wasn’t much to share, now that they’d taken to poking and prodding him with questions whenever they saw fit. If anything, Helmut was sure that they’d gone through everything — his files, his life — pulling apart code and dusting off paperwork to  _ understand.  _ To them, he was an unforeseen organism, activated by tragedy and unleashed on individuals that should not have crumbled as they did.    
  
To replicate it would be in their interest; it was as obvious as the twisting glee inside him, knowing that they’d continue to try and fail all the same.    
  
Because he’d won. He’d won it all, even if he couldn’t crouch and dip his hands in the blood they spilled fighting each other; if he could, perhaps it would cover the blood and concrete from agonized hands digging through a broken home, lungs burned from calling out names that will never be answered to again, caked in the dust around him.  _ He’d tried to get to them in time, he’d called so much— _   
  
_ No.  _   
  
Helmut rubbed at his hands, wishing to warm his palms; however, his tone stayed neutral, giving nothing and taking just as much. He had no reason to give. “The light: it flickers.” 

There was no reason to _ take  _ either _. _   
  
“Indeed it does, but is there anything else to share? It has been a while since we talked openly, has it not?” The man looked back, watching the flickering light with interest, before turning to his subject. “We both know that would look good on your record here, as calm as it already is.”   
  
Jumping over their obstacles made for a good show, but in this race, it was the rider that received the praise. “I have nothing else to say. My apologies for disappointing.” A smile, barely reaching his eyes, was followed by a shrug. “It’s been what, two years?” 

Almost two-and-a-half, time stretching out to the point where the cold of Sokovia felt distant, yet his mind could still hear the crunch of snow under his boots and a laugh in the distance. Perhaps, in another world, he’d still be there, watching as his son grew into the best heir one could ask for.

It’d been two-and-a-half years since he’d visited the graves.

_ One day.  _

“Two years since what, exactly?”   
  
“I think we both know; it’s a disservice to both of us if we have to pretend that we do not know.” The song and dance had gotten old in the first year, usually placed to whatever tempo they had wished to test on him that day; it took them a few pages into their glorified instruction manual to understand that it was useless without force. The hollow interior was sheltered with thick skin, layers of stubbornness having solidified under a particular sort of grief. “You’ve entered this room over a hundred times and spoken to me —  _ or should I say analyzed me —  _ so there’s no need to be shy. What we have is a link, no matter how flimsy, until I finally die or they replace you.” _  
_ _  
_ They all had their purposes to fill, after all. 

“Is that what you think? That we’re all replaceable? I highly doubt so, because with such an attitude, moving on tends to be easier.” The clipboard was marked with an annotation as if the man had come across something particularly interesting. “Besides, this is my job, is it not? Being shuffled around is mandatory.”   
  
“Jobs can be replaced, but I highly doubt my occupation is to entertain criminal psychologists. Not much of a challenge, yes?”   
  
“You did what you did  _ alone _ . Was that not a challenge?”   
  
_ It was. _ It was sleepless nights and a strict routine to  _ understand  _ his opponents. It was files to unencrypt and sort into trash and treasure alike, followed by mapping areas and watching targets; all the while, walking through the destruction of a city that, while lacking the sights of a tourist area, was home. The crunch of ice had not been laced with laughter in the distance, nor was the sky as bright as it used to be. The smiles were gone, as were the smiles returned.

He’d done it alone, but after enough time reading through plans and chucking them into a fire, it sometimes sounds like the flame whispered what he wrote.    
  
The words fueled his fires. 

“It all depends on the person’s perspective. To Beethoven, playing a nursery rhyme is nothing but instinct, as is a bear protecting its cubs from the muzzle of a gun. A challenge, yes, but success comes to those who seek it out. I sought it out.” His hands itched as if the cuts from before had returned, eyes downcast to check if they had formed from memory alone.  _ Concrete and blood under broken fingernails. Concrete and blood under a clenched fist. Concrete and— “ _ I do not pretend to have sought after a challenge that would make the masses happy. If that is the narrative you want, my apologies for the disappointment,  _ but I’m content with what I sought after _ .”   
  
And there it was: the drop in neutrality, evident by the way the man clung to his clipboard. Perhaps, in his files, he’d marked down something else, insisting that there had to be  _ something _ similar to what he’d seen in his textbooks, but it was all for naught. That was the face of a man who didn’t get what he wanted, trying to wrap up whatever he could grab. 

“What was the cost of that, Colonel?”

Putting a cost on the lives of his family felt like a disservice.

_The cost? Pain, an insurmountable amount, padded with successful vengeance._   
  
“Nothing of importance. There was nothing left to give _.”_

It didn’t take the man long to excuse himself, mentioning that they’d continue their discussion another day, but since Helmut had all but dismissed the conversation verbally, the gesture was merely protocol.    
  
The light still flickered once he left, brighter among the dimmed room.

If the door had not been bathed in darkness, solid steel blocking the hallway, then the settling dust of a lost soul would have offered a rather interesting addendum.   


**Author's Note:**

> The product of an hour (and a bit) listening to music and having thoughts.  
> Song inspo: Anger by Sleeping At Last


End file.
